


clumsy

by Ericine



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Early Season 9, F/M, Kink Meme, Nostalgia, Sara is a badass and anyone who thinks otherwise is lying, Vibrators, Washington D.C., everyone is a klutz, everything old is new again, sex with exes, very brief mention of Sam/Jack but it doesn't work out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's never been one for new beginnings, but this is something else. Written for the Stargate Kink Meme. Prompt: Jack/Sara, vibrator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clumsy

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Jack starts hooking up with Sara when he gets to Washington! I think anyone married to Jack had to be a formidable person, so here's the start of my efforts to combat the show fridging the poor woman.

It had started off so simply. Sara was in the area, dropping off some paperwork, Jack had run into her (literally run, and spilled coffee all over her white blouse, because _of course_ she was wearing white and _of course_ he had picked that exact moment not to look), and he'd offered to buy her lunch and a drink after she used the laundry service in his apartment.

In retrospect, maybe he was asking for it, bringing her back to his apartment, but then again, she could have said no. He gave her several opportunities as he was driving her over ("You can park in my space. It's free. It's the least I can do."), but, at the end of the day, he was a little lonely (just a little, always just a little, and he'd never admit to more), and she was a little lonely, and she was the one who knocked her purse over.

They sat in Jack's small living room (the Air Force had offered him bigger, but he'd turned it down--what was the point? There was no room for a pond or for anything fun), washer churning in the background, and it would have been awkward if Jack hadn't been in this situation so many times before--him in jeans and a sweatshirt, her in his sweatpants and one of his flannel shirts (he'd asked, of course, because surely, some things have changed, but Sara just gave him that no-bullshit look that he knew so well and asked for the flannel, the green one, if he still had it) with her feet tucked under her on the couch.

They'd tried to make small talk--they were both on classified business, which surprised Jack. Since when did Sara do classified business? He didn't ask, though, because (1) you don't ask and (2) she was entitled (so entitled, entitled forever and three times on Sunday) to a life that was completely her own.

They sat a little longer in silence that was supposed to be more awkward than this, but before he could think too much on that, she stood and asked for a beer. He stood up, too, then, and there was that look again. Jack sat back down.

"In the fridge," he says, jabbing a thumb toward the small kitchen behind them.

And damn the living room for being so small--she stands and clips the side of the couch, just enough for her purse to spill out over everything, and Jack's on his feet instinctively (his reaction time's something that's been war-written into his bones) to help her with the mess.

"It's fine," she says, right as he's about to say "I'm sorry," and then his fingers close on it.

It's discreet, and she always has been, so he thinks it's a tube of lipstick, at first--black, compact, and ribbed. He almost places it into her purse, but realizes what it is halfway and drops it just short.

The vibrator rolls a little, then stops between them. Stupidly, he looks up at her. That's what he's always done when he doesn't know what to do.

"We're both adults, here," Sara says, gently picking up the vibrator. "Please don't make this awkward out of some misplaced chivalry crap." The _crap_ comes out softly, not biting, just a gentle chide. She's always been able to do that, talk like a sailor and make it sound pure nonetheless, like you had to cock your head and figure out what she was really _actually_ saying.

Jack bites back another apology. He always wants to apologize to her. "What are the odds of this?" he asks, and he feels a pang of both nostalgia and relief that Carter's not here to answer that question.

Sara had just gotten into town today. She was going to drop off her paperwork (Sara was moving to D.C--seriously, maybe he'd just call up Carter and pose the whole thing to her as a hypothetical--she'd laugh, even now, after what had happened a couple months ago) and head to her hotel room. It would take maybe less than a week to move into her new place, and yet. And yet, she had a vibrator in her purse.

That was new. And somewhere, somewhere Jack barely allows himself to remember, it's kind of hot.

He can see Sara taking in his face. She was always the one good with feelings, the one who was best when Charlie was crying. He's sure she heard at least half his thoughts, even now, with more than eight years of ocean underneath their bridge, can see the flash of pain cross her face right when he thinks of Charlie, and then she's standing, vibrator still in her hand.

"I'm not seeing anyone," she declares. "Haven't in a while. You?"

He thinks of Carter, of the pained acceptance in her face after they came back from the cabin, back into reality, without the adrenaline coursing and a live Gate in front of them. "I think we're going different ways," she'd said, and there wasn't a "sir" at the end of that statement, but he heard it loud and clear.

He'd come to D.C. for them, for all of SG-1, because this was how he kept them safe. He would keep them safe until the day he dropped dead, the fulfillment of a promise he'd made without realizing it a long time ago. Teal'c belonged with his people--Jaffa or SG-1. Carter belonged to the stars, whether she knew it or not, and he'd never let anything jeopardize that. Daniel belonged--wherever the hell his insane cosmic crapshoot placed him next--but fuck if he wasn't going to keep him safe, keep them all safe, even if it meant wading through bureaucratic nonsense that sucked him dry.

"No," he answers, and there's an edge both fierce and gentle in Sara's eyes as she steps forward and kisses him. It's the easiest kiss he's ever had. And yet...it's been so long. He pulls her closer, grabbing handfuls of the sweatshirt fabric (they've always been too big on her).

"Bedroom?" she asks, and it's only half a question against his mouth. They're too old to do this on the couch. He pulls her with him, noticing that she drops the vibrator into her (his?) sweatpants pocket as they walk.

After they make quick work of his (their?) clothes, she climbs on top of him ("Don't you dare wreck your knees on my account.") and kisses him as she hands him the vibrator.

"I trust you know what to do?" she asks, and there's a sparkle in her eye. He barely has time to turn it on before she's sinking slowly onto him, brushing her lips quickly against the scar on his shoulder (she also has scars he doesn't recognize, and it's something they don't talk about--though he's ready to kill whoever or whatever caused hers), never a question, just an acknowledgement that that partially-healed wound is a part of him now, as much a part of him as anything else.

It's familiar, and he misses that more than anything. He can't help it--he groans, thrusts back, slips the vibrator between them, against Sara's clit.

They both know what they're doing, and it's been so long for them both. Sara comes with a low moan, leaning into Jack, pressing up against the vibrator as much as possible, and Jack's only a few thrusts behind her.

He pulls the blanket over them after, and she curls into his side (the damn vibrator's somewhere in the sheets, but it's off, and that's all they care about now).

"This--" Jack begins.

"--is something we can figure out," Sara finishes. She's tracing her fingers along the tags on his chest, and he's dropping a kiss on her forehead.

How can this, something so familiar and--yes, good--exist in such fucking chaos? He thinks about the reports on his desk, about that poor kid Mitchell, about that alien girl that's apparently following Daniel around. A former host, and she's both alive and has her mind. That never happens.

"Stop thinking about work," Sara murmurs. "That's an order."

Sara's laundry's been done for about half an hour, but no one's gone to get it yet.

"What are the odds?" Jack says again, and Sara huffs a laugh against his chest.

He's never been one for new beginnings, but this isn't that. It's something else, and he doesn't mind that at all.


End file.
